


Touching

by Lovefushsia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But isn't, Drunken Confessions, First Time Blow Jobs, Follows a night out, John touches Sherlock's knee, Kissing, M/M, Sherlock's sheet, Which looks a bit like the Stag Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 12:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11897823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovefushsia/pseuds/Lovefushsia
Summary: John 'accidentally' touches Sherlock's knee and talking ;) ensues."John, is that your hand on my knee?""Mmm?" John looked down. "I'm not sure..." he said slowly. "Do you want it to be?"Sherlock frowned, raised an eyebrow as he looked at where they were touching. When he met John's eyes again he was smiling. He nodded jerkily. "I don't mind," he murmured, and John's heart began to thump.





	1. One

"John, is that your hand on my knee?"

"Mmm?" John looked down. "I'm not sure..." he said slowly. "Do you want it to be?"

Sherlock frowned, raised an eyebrow as he looked at where they were touching. When he met John's eyes again he was smiling. He nodded jerkily. "I don't mind," he murmured, and John's heart began to thump.

"We've had maybe a bit much to drink, don't you think?" John asked.

"The perfect amount I'd say," Sherlock replied, voice deepened by said alcohol, John supposed, or maybe he was just tired, he clearly wasn't quite himself.

"Ah, ok..." John said, unsure, but grinning in a rather silly, lop-sided way. "Perfect for what, exactly?"

"For you to show me more of what I've been missing," Sherlock said.

John swallowed heavily. Sherlock wanted, what - "More of this?" he asked, tentatively giving his knee a light squeeze, fully aware of where his hand was now.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed.

"You, uh- you're serious?" Sherlock nodded. "You want me to do this?" John asked again. Quite expecting for Sherlock to tell him to stop, John squeezed again before moving his hand very slowly along his leg.

Sherlock's head rested on the back of his chair and John took a deep breath and put his knee to the carpet, balancing himself.

He took another moment to consider exactly how drunk he was. He felt a little... spinny, slightly over-excited, considering he was slumped and sleepy in his chair a couple of minutes ago. The prospect of being this close to his friend would do that though, certainly aided by the alcohol, but he knew what he was doing. He wasn't certain that was the same for Sherlock though - he really didn't drink much. He moved closer, keeping his hand on his friend's thigh, leaning his face close to Sherlock's. "Are you sure?" he whispered, and Sherlock raised his head, noses nearly brushing, eyes huge in the dim light of the living room.

He laid his hand on top of John's, fingers slipping around each other and a thought occurred to John. "Have you ever... you know, _this_ , with anyone?"

"No," Sherlock answered immediately.

John shook his head in wonder. "So how can you be sure?" he whispered.

"Because I have never wanted anyone to touch me, until I met you."

John's stomach twisted and an almost sharp pain shot up through his chest. "Sherlock," he said on a breath. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Even in this situation Sherlock couldn't be serious for more than a moment. "I could hardly get in a word between the constant flow of girlfriends," he murmured.

John sat back a little. "Hey," he began, but Sherlock's soft smile made sure his words didn't do anything more than make John smile at himself. He knew he'd been covering his own feelings with a string of meaningless relationships. He only wished he'd realised it sooner. "There's not been anyone for months."

"I know," Sherlock said, squeezing John's fingers a little, reminding him that they were in fact touching now - was it an invitation to go further? But he was still unsure. Alcohol plus first times, Sherlock's first time - God no, this was huge, serious stuff.

"Sherlock," he said, pushing down his desires for now. He could easily do that, he was well-practiced. "I don't want you to do this tonight." Sherlock's face fell and John's heart dropped at the thought of causing him any pain. But he had to be sensible. "We have to wait, what if it's just the drink? I can't do that to you."

"For God's sake, John, you don't have to be so cautious with me."

"I do," John assured him. "Of course I do. Now up. Bed."

"With you?" Sherlock tried.

It took everything John had to tell him no. "I think we've just established that's not happening. Not right now," John amended.

Sherlock sighed as John sat back on his heels. "Ok, bed," Sherlock agreed tiredly.

Suddenly, worried that this might be the end of it if he wasn't careful, John said, "We'll talk about this tomorrow, though, ok?"

Sherlock looked at him and there was a softness in his eyes that John had rarely seen. "I won't change my mind," he said, and he seemed completely sober now as he pushed himself out of his chair.

John stood up too, a little unsteadily, and they wandered into the hall.

"What will you be doing up there, while you're lying in bed thinking about this?" Sherlock asked.

"Same thing I always do when I start thinking about you too much," John began, and Sherlock turned to him wide-eyed. John swallowed and held his nerve. "Think about all the things that really piss me off about you. That always helps." He allowed a small smile.

"Really. That's charming, John," Sherlock told him and he turned to continue along to his bedroom, leaving John by the stairs. "I'll be having a wank," he said over his shoulder.

"Oh, God," John whispered.

"Goodnight John," Sherlock said, hand on the door.

"I hate you," John said aloud, and Sherlock gave him a wink before slipping into his room, leaving John wondering what the hell had just happened.

 


	2. Two

He did think about how much he hated Sherlock for about as long as it took to climb the stairs. But as he started to undress, his thoughts immediately changed to what Sherlock might be doing. Whether or not he'd been serious didn't stop John's thoughts from rushing headlong to exactly how Sherlock would look taking hold of himself. He blew out a stream of air and threw his shirt in the laundry hamper.

He ruffled his hands through his hair and sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. Why - why had he started that at all? A misplaced hand on a knee and now here he was even more frustrated than usual.

That was his fault entirely as well, of course. Since when did he have a problem with alcohol? He'd messed around plenty of times when both parties had been drunk. But this was Sherlock, and there was no way John was letting him do anything he could easily regret.

So John had to try to avoid what he actually would rather be doing, and he certainly wouldn't be thinking about what Sherlock was doing. He threw himself backwards to lie across the bed, feet dangling. "No," he said aloud.

There was a lot of tossing and turning, a lot of huffing and throwing back covers. John already knew every tiny crack and bump in the painted ceiling above his bed and he traced each one with his eyes until his eyelids were too heavy to manage it anymore. Visions of Sherlock's sleepy, drunken face, mixed with the hopeless desire to touch himself and get some relief. His hand was loosely on his cock but he refused to give in.

 

Sleep helped, most of the time John felt better after sleeping it off, whatever _it_ was at the time. But this time, no, he didn't feel better. As he shoved the covers off his too warm body and rubbed his eyes in the brightness of the room, the only thought he found himself considering was whether he had enough time for a wank before Sherlock started moving around downstairs and distracting him, quickly followed by whether Sherlock had in fact got himself off the night before, while John lay in bed in a state of suppressed arousal.

His hand drifted into his pants and he closed his eyes, wrapping around his hardening cock and letting his fingers curl around the head. He squeezed a little and let out a breath he'd been holding since he woke up. After a couple of lazy strokes he opened his eyes again and sighed loudly. Damn. He didn't want to be doing this. Not right now, just because it was fucking convenient. He wanted last night back, wanted to change what had happened, or rather what hadn't happened - they should have sobered up, talked about it. Maybe they could have worked something out and not just gone their separate ways until now Sherlock was probably completely over it. Probably went straight to sleep last night and John had missed any opportunity there might have been.

 

It took less than three seconds for Sherlock to let John know just how he was feeling about the previous night. Grumpy. He stomped into the kitchen and huffed about the place while John watched him over his coffee mug. When he finally came to a stop in the middle of the room, tea in hand, he glared at John.

"So," John said. "Good sleep?"

"Not really."

"How are you feeling?"

"Not good."

"Headache?"

"Hmm," Sherlock murmured, still glaring at John as if this was all his fault.

"I'll get you something to help," John said, pushing out of his chair and brushing past Sherlock.

Sherlock's hand shot out and John looked down as Sherlock gripped his elbow. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, a slight smile on his lips but a definite accusatory undertone in there too.

"Uh... no, not really," John admitted. "But my head's ok though."

"Lucky you," Sherlock murmured, letting his hand fall away. John left him with his tea, glad he had the tolerance these days to avoid a hangover.

Later, when Sherlock had slept off his painkillers, he emerged from his bedroom again, yawning, hair ruffled, and sheet just about clinging to him as he shuffled into the living room, slouching onto the sofa while John stared from across the room.

"Ok?" John asked, trying not to smile.

"Yes," Sherlock told him.

"We should talk, you know," John said before he could think better of it.

"Talk," Sherlock repeated. "Yes." He gave John a sidelong look. "Never really been very good at that."

"I had a shit night," John told him, leaning forwards, elbows on his knees. "We could start with that."

Sherlock considered him for a moment. Finally, he met John's eyes. "I woke up from a dream so fresh I thought you would be beside me when I turned over. I was cross with you - with dream you, when you weren't there."

"I woke up with my cock in my hand, wishing it was your hand," John told him shakily, heart racing, palms beginning to sweat with the admission, but he kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock's, determined not to let this go.

Sherlock's face didn't change but his eyes roved back and forth between John's.

"So, last night, what we started, we both feel the same today?"

John was already nodding. "Oh God, yes," he said definitively.

"Right, well..." Sherlock sat up and looked at himself. "I suddenly feel rather under-dressed for this," he said quietly, seriously.

John certainly didn't agree with that. "Not from this angle," he murmured.

"You're always telling me to put on more clothes."

"Well it doesn't seem to be a worry for me this morning," John told him. He wanted to move, to get closer to Sherlock, like last night, but he was rooted to his chair and he could only watch as his friend suddenly stood up, clutched the sheet, despite their conversation, and came across the room to stand beside John.

"Um," John said, looking up at Sherlock.

"I wonder if we can try to get back to where we were?" Sherlock asked. "Minus, the Rizla and whisky," he added.

John was on the edge of his seat and he reached out for Sherlock's hips, grasping for him tentatively through the bunched up sheet. "Please," he whispered.

Sherlock nodded, but he seemed nervous, wholly unlike himself. Even so, he grinned down at John and slowly lowered onto his knees in front of John's chair. John slipped off until they were on a level again, one hand still holding to Sherlock's waist as they knelt there together, his other reaching for Sherlock's face, cupping his jaw, letting his thumb brush Sherlock's lower lip. He was transfixed, being this close to his fantasy, touching, feeling Sherlock's warm body beneath the sheet, the light stubble on his cheek.

"John," he heard above his reverie. He looked back into Sherlock's eyes and saw warmth there too. He wondered if that expression was purely a reflection of John's own feelings - there was no way they could both feel this way about the other.

"John, look at me," Sherlock whispered, and his voice shook too.

"I am, it's ok," John told him.

"Yes," Sherlock said simply. "Will you show me?" he said, repeating words from last night, and John knew even if they were both crazy, at least they were both sober, both on the same page - going into this together.

He couldn't keep his breathing steady, could feel the rapid rise and fall of Sherlock's chest as he came closer - thigh to thigh, chest to chest - as they met in a careful press of lips which John felt all down his spine in shivers of pleasure. He closed in further, his hand moving to the back of Sherlock's neck as he deepened the kiss, pressing his tongue against Sherlock's lips, licking and teasing, trying to put all he had into it, because if Sherlock had never kissed anyone... well, John wanted to be the only one who would ever know this feeling. Sherlock's arms were around John's waist, one gripping his shirt, it felt like they were both clinging to each other in desperation.

Finally John pulled back and looked into Sherlock's flushed face. "Oh my God, Sherlock," John gasped out.

He was only able to look for a moment though before Sherlock shoved him backwards and moved in on him. John's back pressed against the edge of his chair as he whispered, "Fuck."

"You like that?" Sherlock asked, face close to John's, eyes wide and curious as their breathing came frantically together and John nodded, _yes, yes, fuck yes_ he liked that. "Kiss me again," Sherlock demanded and John thought he might come in his pants.

He didn't hold back, kissing Sherlock, holding him close while Sherlock leaned into him, the combination of Sherlock's warm body on his, the sheet gradually revealing more and more skin and the fact that Sherlock's tongue was in his mouth, it was more than anything John had actually imagined happening between them. It was hitting him hard, making his kisses more frantic, his hands grip Sherlock's hip harder and his moans grow louder. He felt Sherlock's hands in his hair, tentative, tugging lightly and he had to pull back, a difficult move since the chair was right behind him.

He put a gentle hand against Sherlock's chest, easing him back whilst still clutching him with the other hand. "I need to catch my breath," he said with a chuckle.

"My head is spinning, John, is that normal?" Sherlock asked, seemingly unconcerned.

"At this point I think normal has gone out of the window, don't you?" John murmured, steady breathing slowly resuming.

Sherlock nodded. "Was it like that with all those women?"

John frowned and shook his head, adding a definitive, "Nu-uh, and can you please not bring up memories I'd rather not be having just now?"

Sherlock ignored him. "Let me try something here," he said, and John was pulled into another embrace before he could think further than _lips-ohmyGod_. And Sherlock's lips were beautiful; plump, soft, parting to clack their teeth together oh-so-gently, tongue lightly tracing the tip of John's...

John was so turned on he could only attempt to join in, blindly meeting Sherlock's every move, trying to ensure Sherlock would come back for more.

He wondered how he would broach the subject of doing anything more than this - not that he needed more than this, Sherlock's lips against his, his hands grasping at John's arms, easing him closer until their chests touched again, and John could feel Sherlock's racing heart, as frantic as John's own. He couldn't keep calm, couldn't keep still and he deepened the kiss again, gently wrestling control back until it was Sherlock who had to pull away.

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?" Sherlock asked accusingly.

John's eyebrows rose as he pulled his lower lip between his teeth, a slow grin forming. Trust Sherlock to put the blame onto John here. "Would you have listened if I had?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Hmm," was his only response, followed by John being shoved backwards again and Sherlock managing to straddle his thighs, despite the sheet, which was pooled loosely around his hips, exposing so much lean, pale, skin John's own chest was heaving again just from the proximity. He currently had a solid erection and if Sherlock moved just an inch further into his lap, he would know all about it.

"Um, Sherlock, just so you know, I am... enjoying this. A lot," he said.

Sherlock tilted his head, looking slightly confused but not concerned. "Good, so am I," he said, leaning in for another kiss.

"I just mean," John said, placing a firm hand on that delicious chest, which certainly didn't help things in John's trousers, "I don't want you to think that I want to push you into anything further..."

Sherlock looked down and leaned back a little, his lower half edged forwards and he bumped into John's erection. His eyes widened and John felt his cheeks heat. But Sherlock said, "Ah, I see what you mean," and took hold of John's hand.

Before John could blink, Sherlock had pressed their joined hands to his own groin and John swallowed hard, not sure now why he hadn't supposed Sherlock's body would have the exact same reaction as his.

"Oh," he murmured, grinning now. "That works out quite well then."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes."

John considered for a moment, gently moving his fingers under Sherlock's hand, over hard flesh covered only in a thin layer of fabric. "Are you wearing pants?" he asked.

Sherlock shook his head, smiling widely and John's heart rate increased until it was almost painful.

He pulled Sherlock to him with his free hand and kissed him again, delving straight in, licking and sucking on Sherlock's tongue, groaning into his mouth when Sherlock pressed his hand against his cock.

Sherlock's hips were moving, rocking against John, rubbing their cock's together and making John desperate to lose some clothes. In the back of his horny mind, though, he knew it was probably best to take this one step at a time. Despite the obvious arousal, this was all new, especially for Sherlock - kissing was one thing, anything more would be quite another.

John supposed they would need to stop kissing to talk about it. And he didn't want to stop kissing. He didn't think he would ever get enough of this actually, kissing Sherlock Holmes - he never would have thought it possible.

Gradually, it became a more subtle thing, a gentle brushing of lips and John hummed stilling his hand for a moment. "Sherlock," he mumbled, trying to extricate himself from his lips when he really didn't want to. "What shall we do about this," he asked, words muffled by their closeness. He pressed his palm against Sherlock's cock, then in another moment of boldness, he grabbed Sherlock's hand and pressed it to his own cock, adding, "and this?"

Sherlock's cheeks were already beautifully pink and the colour darkened even as John looked on, feeling his own face warm in empathy. Sherlock was really hot, he was making John completely crazy - brazen and reckless, willing to try this, to risk rejection because it felt so damn good. He couldn't resist another kiss before drawing back again, studying Sherlock's features.

"John," Sherlock gasped, "anything - you can do anything you want," he said in a rush.

"I'll do anything _you_ want," John told him pointedly.

"I want you to stop talking and kiss me," he said, and John did as he was asked, heart thumping at the command. Following orders wasn't something he'd considered once he found himself out of the army, but with Sherlock giving the commands, John loved it. He groaned against his friend's chest, holding fast still, neither willing to let the other go. His hand went to his own cock and he rubbed through the layers of clothes, continuing the kiss whilst trying to get as much friction as he could through his jeans. A second later he huffed out, "Why did I get dressed?"

Sherlock studied him with wide eyes. "Feel free to take something off," he said, and he let his sheet drag away from his body as he shifted off John's lap, suddenly completely naked and apparently John was allowed to look, to touch... He kept his eyes on Sherlock's as he fumbled with his buttons, breathing out a small sigh of relief when he got his hand into his pants and took hold of himself properly. Then Sherlock was back in his lap, no sheet, just his lithe, firm body pressed up against John's; kissing his neck, his cheek, his lips, hands clutching tightly again to John's shoulders. While John stroked himself off.

Sherlock met his eyes again and then his lips, plunging his tongue between John's lips and John cried out, breaking the kiss as he came in his pants. "Oh fuck... fuck... yeah..." he gasped out, holding Sherlock close with his other hand as the convulsions continued.

When he could think again he realised Sherlock's cock was nudging against the back of his hand and nothing was going to stop him from taking Sherlock up on his offer of _anything_ at that moment.

Although he didn't know if Sherlock would appreciate it or not. Only one way to find out. He drew Sherlock into his arms, ignoring the wetness in his pants for now, and eased them both down so that Sherlock was resting on his elbows on the rug. Their eyes met again, John gazing down into his face, breathing still erratic as he smiled.

"Can I - can I touch you?" he asked, faltering because he had never thought about how good this might be. Of course he fucking had, he had dreamed it. But he hadn't let himself feel it, he hadn't dared. And this was too close to perfect. But Sherlock nodded eagerly, laid out underneath him, flushed cheeks, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Yes," he whispered, from kiss-swollen lips.

John didn't hesitate again, he kissed Sherlock sloppily before launching straight onto his cock, sucking him through tight lips and trying for as much in his mouth as he could. He heard Sherlock cry out, gripped his hips as he eased back a bit, breathing heavily through his nose as he curled his tongue around Sherlock's cock head, licking over the ridges of soft skin, before taking him back in, further this time, cheeks sucking in around the thick shaft. It would probably be obvious to Sherlock that John had done this before, but he didn't care. They could talk later, this was happening now, and John had Sherlock writhing under his hands as he bobbed up and down on his cock.

Life had just become an insane mix of pleasure and confusion and John didn't give a damn as long as he made Sherlock come. He was making a sloppy job of it but it meant he could wrap his hand around the shaft when he came up the length with his mouth. Sherlock groaned every time and grabbed harder at John's hair and wrist, while John slid his lips over sleek skin and gave a twist of his palm at each upward stroke.

Sherlock was gasping out words, thumping one hand on the floor while he grabbed at John wherever he could find purchase with the other. John was spurred on by the completely uninhibited display from his friend. He had seen him excited by a case, or by a cup of tea even after a long day, but he had never seen this.

He looked up to get a good view of Sherlock's face before redoubling his efforts and sucking in him again, squeezing his hips enough to leave finger marks, he knew. Sherlock cried out an almost defeated sound, chest and shoulders raised up as he came in hot spurts over John's tongue. John was so ecstatic that he couldn't even manage to swallow all at once, he had to pull off to catch his breath, his hand finishing the work as Sherlock's orgasm went on.

Finally, John rested on his palm by Sherlock's hip, wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand. He looked down into Sherlock's face, he had his eyes closed now, head on the floor, hands spread out at his sides. John smiled, stroked gentle fingertips down Sherlock's chest and murmured, "Hey."

Sherlock opened one eye and John chuckled. "Are you ok?" he asked.

Sherlock frowned for a second, then both eyes opened and he smiled up at John, his face now serene and beautiful. He nodded and then a chuckle rose, jolting John sitting so close to him, "I'm ok," Sherlock got out. "John, that was fantastic," he said through his laughter. "Where the hell did an army doctor learn how to do that?"

John's laughter had picked up to match Sherlock's and their bodies were both shaking with it. "I can't tell you, I'd have to kill you," he said, producing more giggling.

"You will kill me if you keep that up."

"Death by blowjob?" John said. "Shall I write this up? I think we have a good title there," he guffawed.

Sherlock grabbed him by the shoulders and John all but fell on top of him, landing with their faces pressed close together.

"Let's keep this just for us, for now, shall we?" Sherlock murmured. "I wouldn't like to have anything spoil our fun when we've only just begun."

"How are you being so sensible about this?" John asked softly.

"I had a long night to think it through."

"So, you did think about me last night?" John asked, voice lowered, eyes drawn to Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock smirked. "Of course I did." He raised a hand and stroked the backs of his knuckles down John's cheek.

"I've wanted you, like this, for so long," John admitted, the words coming as a whisper.

Sherlock's face grew soft, eyes letting slip the purity of his thoughts as he said, "I know, I'm sorry it took me so long to get here."

John felt the tightness in his throat as he took in Sherlock's words. He couldn't speak so he kissed him instead, a chaste, gentle meeting of lips. Sherlock held him close, not releasing him after the kiss.

John squirmed a little so he could lay his head on Sherlock's shoulder and he wrapped his arm over his naked chest. He was fairly sure they should probably get cleaned up and be less naked in case anyone did arrive to spoil their fun. But for now, he didn't have any plans to move until Sherlock did.

 


End file.
